He stopped and took a drink of water from his canteen. At the age of ninety-seven, he figured he couldn't afford to get dehydrated.

That was when he spotted the man in the distance, walking towards him. As he got closer, Phil saw that he was dressed in a flowing robe. He wore sandals and his hair was shoulder length. The beard was kind of scraggly yet there was a presence about him.

Am I suffering a heat stroke? He put the canteen back in its holster and checked his pulse.

Normal. About seventy. Not bad. The stranger kept coming. Phil didn't say anything until he stopped in front of him.

"Who the hell are you?"

"No man," said the stranger. "Are you lost?"

"I think that's my question. You don't even have a canteen. What are you doing way out here in the middle of nowhere?"

"I think that's my question. You were hard to find. Will you walk with me?"

"Why would I do that? You're not a mugger, are you?"

"If I were, I couldn't make a very good go at it way out here. Come, let's walk, Phillip Jackson."

"I'm sorry. I'm not walking anywhere with you. I don't even know you."

"Perhaps you have forgotten me. That's all right. A lot of people do. Contrary to what some people would have you believe, I don't ask much of you. Just live a good life, don't screw with people, and make the most of your days here."